George MacDonald - Lilith

When we came to the nest-village, I remained there a night with them, to see them resettled; for Lona still looked like one just dead, and there seemed no need of haste.

The princess had eaten nothing, and her eyes remained shut: fearing she might die ere we reached the end of our journey, I went to her in the night, and laid my bare arm upon her lips. She bit into it so fiercely that I cried out. How I got away from her I do not know, but I came to myself lying beyond her reach. It was then morning, and immediately I set about our departure.

Choosing twelve Little Ones, not of the biggest and strongest, but of the sweetest and merriest, I mounted them on six elephants, and took two more of the wise CLUMSIES, as the children called them, to bear the princess. I still rode Lona’s horse, and carried her body wrapt in her cloak before me. As nearly as I could judge I took the direct way, across the left branch of the river-bed, to the House of Bitterness, where I hoped to learn how best to cross the broader and rougher branch, and how to avoid the basin of monsters: I dreaded the former for the elephants, the latter for the children.

I had one terrible night on the way—the third, passed in the desert between the two branches of the dead river.

We had stopped the elephants in a sheltered place, and there let the princess slip down between them, to lie on the sand until the morning. She seemed quite dead, but I did not think she was. I laid myself a little way from her, with the body of Lona by my other side, thus to keep watch at once over the dead and the dangerous. The moon was half-way down the west, a pale, thoughtful moon, mottling the desert with shadows. Of a sudden she was eclipsed, remaining visible, but sending forth no light: a thick, diaphanous film covered her patient beauty, and she looked troubled. The film swept a little aside, and I saw the edge of it against her clearness—the jagged outline of a bat-like wing, torn and hooked. Came a cold wind with a burning sting—and Lilith was upon me. Her hands were still bound, but with her teeth she pulled from my shoulder the cloak Lona made for me, and fixed them in my flesh. I lay as one paralysed.

Already the very life seemed flowing from me into her, when I remembered, and struck her on the hand. She raised her head with a gurgling shriek, and I felt her shiver. I flung her from me, and sprang to my feet.

She was on her knees, and rocked herself to and fro. A second blast of hot-stinging cold enveloped us; the moon shone out clear, and I saw her face—gaunt and ghastly, besmeared with red.

“Down, devil!” I cried.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, with the voice of a dull echo from a sepulchre.

“To your first husband,” I answered.

“He will kill me!” she moaned.

“At least he will take you off my hands!”

“Give me my daughter,” she suddenly screamed, grinding her teeth.

“Never! Your doom is upon you at last!”

“Loose my hands for pity’s sake!” she groaned. “I am in torture. The cords are sunk in my flesh.”

“I dare not. Lie down!” I said.

She threw herself on the ground like a log.

The rest of the night passed in peace, and in the morning she again seemed dead.

Before evening we came in sight of the House of Bitterness, and the next moment one of the elephants came alongside of my horse.

“Please, king, you are not going to that place?” whispered the Little One who rode on his neck.

“Indeed I am! We are going to stay the night there,” I answered.

“Oh, please, don’t! That must be where the cat-woman lives!”

“If you had ever seen her, you would not call her by that name!”

“Nobody ever sees her: she has lost her face! Her head is back and side all round.”

“She hides her face from dull, discontented people!—Who taught you to call her the cat-woman?”

“I heard the bad giants call her so.”

“What did they say about her?”

“That she had claws to her toes.”

“It is not true. I know the lady. I spent a night at her house.”

“But she MAY have claws to her toes! You might see her feet, and her claws be folded up inside their cushions!”

“Then perhaps you think that I have claws to my toes?”

“Oh, no; that can’t be! you are good!”

“The giants might have told you so!” I pursued.

“We shouldn’t believe them about you!”

“Are the giants good?”

“No; they love lying.”

“Then why do you believe them about her? I know the lady is good; she cannot have claws.”

“Please how do you know she is good?”

“How do you know I am good?”

I rode on, while he waited for his companions, and told them what I had said.

They hastened after me, and when they came up,—

“I would not take you to her house if I did not believe her good,” I said.

“We know you would not,” they answered.

“If I were to do something that frightened you—what would you say?”

“The beasts frightened us sometimes at first, but they never hurt us!” answered one.

“That was before we knew them!” added another.

“Just so!” I answered. “When you see the woman in that cottage, you will know that she is good. You may wonder at what she does, but she will always be good. I know her better than you know me. She will not hurt you,—or if she does,——”

“Ah, you are not sure about it, king dear! You think she MAY hurt us!”

“I am sure she will never be unkind to you, even if she do hurt you!”

They were silent for a while.

“I’m not afraid of being hurt—a little!—a good deal!” cried Odu. “But I should not like scratches in the dark! The giants say the cat-woman has claw-feet all over her house!”

“I am taking the princess to her,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because she is her friend.”

“How can she be good then?”

“Little Tumbledown is a friend of the princess,” I answered; “so is Luva: I saw them both, more than once, trying to feed her with grapes!”

“Little Tumbledown is good! Luva is very good!”

“That is why they are her friends.”

“Will the cat-woman—I mean the woman that isn’t the cat-woman, and has no claws to her toes—give her grapes?”

“She is more likely to give her scratches!”

“Why?—You say she is her friend!”

“That is just why.—A friend is one who gives us what we need, and the princess is sorely in need of a terrible scratching.”

They were silent again.

“If any of you are afraid,” I said, “you may go home; I shall not prevent you. But I cannot take one with me who believes the giants rather than me, or one who will call a good lady the cat-woman!”

“Please, king,” said one, “I’m so afraid of being afraid!”

“My boy,” I answered, “there is no harm in being afraid. The only harm is in doing what Fear tells you. Fear is not your master! Laugh in his face and he will run away.”

“There she is—in the door waiting for us!” cried one, and put his hands over his eyes.

“How ugly she is!” cried another, and did the same.

“You do not see her,” I said; “her face is covered!”

“She has no face!” they answered.

“She has a very beautiful face. I saw it once.—It is indeed as beautiful as Lona’s!” I added with a sigh.

“Then what makes her hide it?”

“I think I know:—anyhow, she has some good reason for it!”

“I don’t like the cat-woman! she is frightful!”

“You cannot like, and you ought not to dislike what you have never seen.—Once more, you must not call her the cat-woman!”

“What are we to call her then, please?”

“Lady Mara.”

“That is a pretty name!” said a girl; “I will call her ‘lady Mara’; then perhaps she will show me her beautiful face!”